


Lance's Dick Bagels Save America

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bagel Shop Au, Bagels, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Homophobic Language, M/M, Racism, i will 100 percent never apologize for this, idk lance is kind of doing everyone a favor in the end, it is not a character from voltron, major character death but uh, misuse of bagels, technically i mean, warning for racial slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: “Lance!” Keith called tersely from the doorway, voice cracking and hands white knuckled around the knob. “Would you care to explain why the FBI is at our door right now?”“Um,” came the meek response from behind him. Lance appeared in the hall, creeping out slowly from the kitchen, looking much like a child that got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “No?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenhouseNurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenhouseNurse/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's like an indirect kiss but with more dick, a bagel, and fueled by disgust and rage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524135) by [GreenhouseNurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenhouseNurse/pseuds/GreenhouseNurse). 



> Save us Lance, your stupidity is our only hope now. (this is a sequel to the story above, please read it first, it's amazing)

 

When Keith first answered the innocuous sounding knock on the door one pleasant, lazy Sunday morning, he wasn’t expecting his day to start off quite this badly.

 

Standing there were two white men dressed in sharp, black, expensive looking suits, one tall and gangly, the other more rotund and about average height. Both of their faces were grim and serious. They had slicked back, crisply styled hair, snazzy pairs of sunglasses, and an air of such indifference and superiority that the hairs on the back of Keith’s neck stood up. In the distance, Keith could see an equally as fancy limo parked out front with tinted windows. The heavier set one had a familiar looking package grasped in his hands.

 

Holy fucking shit. Keith didn’t know who the hell these guys were who seemed to crawl straight out of a terrible crime thriller movie, but he knew they sure as shit weren’t there to sell him cookies.

 

“Uh…” Keith blanched, face paling. “Can I...help you?”

 

“Hello, my name is Stanley,” said the skinnier, more intimidating man flatly, shoving a very official, very scary looking government badge into Keith’s face. “This is my partner, Frederick. Let’s cut to the chase, as we don’t have much time. Simply put, we’re from the FBI, and we’re looking to speak with someone named…” Stanley squinted at the label on the package in Frederick’s hands. “...Lance McClain?”

 

Frederick only nodded in a curt greeting. Keith gulped. God fucking damn Lance to hell and back.

 

“Lance!” Keith called tersely from the doorway, voice cracking and hands white knuckled around the knob. “Would you care to explain why the FBI is at our door right now?”

 

“Um,” came the meek response from behind him. Lance appeared in the hall, creeping out slowly from the kitchen, looking much like a child that got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “No?”

 

“Lance, _please_ ,” Keith pleaded, giving his best puppy dog eyes, or aka Lance’s One True Weakness. “Could you come here and talk to these men?”

 

Keith had every intention of luring Lance into a false sense of security, and then he was going to kill him after this, absolutely beat the shit out of him and then cut him to ribbons, limb by limb.

 

Lance sighed, scratched the back of his neck, and then reluctantly slunk over to join him at the door. Warily, he watched as the agents ‘stared him down’ - which was pretty creepy considering their covered eyes prevented Keith from being able to tell if they were actually staring at Lance or looking at him, their expressions eerily inscrutable.

 

“We’re here on behalf of the secret service.” Stanley turned more towards Lance, so Keith had to assume he was looking and/or glaring at him. “They received a suspicious package addressed to the president originating from this location at the White House yesterday afternoon, and we’d like to ask you a few questions. This is a pretty important matter of national security.”

 

In that moment, Keith wanted to smack Lance across the lawn. The idiot put his _real name_ and their _shared address_ on that godforsaken package? Was he fucking braindead?!

 

“Hey.” Lance waved, then placed a hand on his hip and jabbed a thumb to his chest. Waggling his eyebrows, he said unbelievably stupidly, “I’m afraid the only package here is my fabulous bod- _ow_!”

 

“Lance, for fuck’s sake,” Keith huffed under his breath while Lance rubbed at his now probably bruised ribs courtesy of Keith’s elbow, turning his back to the men so he could whisper as angrily as he could manage so only Lance could hear. “You can’t talk to them like that, they’re the _FB-fuckin-I,_ not some casual buddy of yours! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

 

Lance put his hands out in front of him. “Sorry, sorry, yeesh. Chill, I can handle this, babe.”

 

He had the gall to wink before Keith turned back to the men.

 

Keith continued thinking about punting Lance to keep his temper down, to try and stay level-headed in this increasingly more daunting situation.

 

“Mr. McClain, do you recognize this package?” Frederick raised the box as Stanley pointed at it.

 

“Maybe,” said Lance.

 

One elbow jab later, Lance corrected himself. “Yes, it’s mine.”

 

“Could you tell us what the intended purpose of sending this was?”

 

Lance shrugged. “I wanted to give the president some bagels, Sir.”

 

Stanley exchanged a disbelieving glance with Frederick.

 

“ _Why_ did you want to give the president _bagels_?” Frederick attempted to take the lead as Stanley looked at a loss of what to do. Keith couldn’t really blame them, he was about as over the whole situation.

 

Lance furrowed his brows. “Because...bagels are good?”

 

Alright, Keith couldn’t take it anymore. Lance had never been very good at speeches, public speaking, or really at speaking at all. If he didn’t interfere soon, this was only going to get much worse.

 

“I’m so sorry about this...uh, sirs,” Keith interjected hurriedly. What in the world was he supposed to call an FBI agent? Mr. Government Guy? Person Who Could Potentially Destroy Their Lives at the Flick of a Wrist? “You see, my friend here has the very debilitating disease of homosexuality, for which he has been trying desperately to find a cure for, but so far has been extremely unsuccessful.”

 

Lance’s lips became thinner as he struggled not to laugh, instead turning his head downcast to act as forlorn and depressed as possible. Keith smiled amicably wider.

 

Stanley matched it with a frown and raised an eyebrow. “What does this have to do with suspicious bagels, exactly, Mr..?”

 

“Kogane." Stanley's frown deepened, as if he'd just said a particularly filthy curse word. "Well, it’s a pretty aggressive case,” Keith explained as if he was talking about a very serious form of cancer. “We were starting to think he was a hopeless cause and we would have to eventually, _you know_.”

 

He put a hand over his face and leaned in closer to the two men, pretending to do so so Lance 'couldn’t see'. He made a harsh slashing motion against his throat, and they both flinched. Neither responded, so Keith pressed forward, spouting things so stupid on a whim off the top of his head, they might as well have been coming from Lance’s mouth.

 

“Anyway, we obviously voted for Trump, because we knew he was our only hope to possibly save Lance here. He and the new vice president have _so_ many _wonderful_ new policies he’s going to set in motion for helpful conversion therapies and such, as I’m sure you all are aware. We were just so happy when we heard he was elected.”

 

Even though he was just acting, it was physically paining Keith to say these things. Frederick narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Stanley nodded as he listened, actually appearing to buy the bullshit Keith was selling.

 

“To poor, hopelessly cock-thirsty Lance here, the guy’s practically like his idol,” Keith patted Lance’s shoulder in an attempt to seem comforting, but at the same time, belittling. Lance made a strangled, I'm-choking-on-my-own-repressed-laughter noise that Keith hoped no one else noticed. “He just wanted to send Mr. Trump a bit of gratitude, so he waited until after the inauguration happened, and sent these lovely gifts.”

 

“But why _bagels_ ?” Frederick spoke up indignantly, flabbergasted and not as satisfied with the inane explanation as Stanley seemed to be. “Why not something like a cake, or I don’t know, a gift _other than food_ that wouldn’t be as suspect or strange?”

 

Unsurprisingly, these guys could not seem to be able to get over the fact that they were bagels, and Keith wasn’t sure what he could do to distract them from that fact. Fucking Lance.

 

He was suddenly very aware of the sweat beading at his brow. “Well--”

 

“Can’t afford it,” Lance cut in, waving a hand and doing his best impression of someone extremely distraught. He brought a hand to his mouth dramatically, most likely covering a huge smile. “Too gay to work.”

 

Keith wordlessly nodded in agreement, willing everything in him not to laugh his fucking ass off.

 

“Oh,” said Frederick, still looking confused and a little uncomfortable, but with a stare from Stanley he surprisingly let it go. “I’m, uh...I’m sorry.”

 

Stanley clasped a hand on Lance’s shoulder this time.

 

“My aunt’s that way, too,” he admitted, tone solemn. “It’s disgraceful, disgusting the sort of things this disease, this animalistic desire affects everyone around them. We understand, son. It’s honestly admirable the effort you’re putting into this to be a better person, to be a better...” Stanley paused, lifting his sunglasses off for the first time, revealing beady eyes that lingered on Lance’s bare arm. “...American.”

 

It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Keith hoped Lance would be too distracted by everything to catch that nasty insinuation. Stanley removed his hand quickly afterwards, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it off, as though it had been tainted by simply touching Lance’s clothing.

 

There was no way Lance hadn't noticed _that_.

 

Both Keith and Lance froze, and Keith almost lost face there, reeling as his temper turned to Stanley instead. He could probably knock the beanpole looking fuck off the porch, no problem, his fingers itching with the need to possibly get around his throat, too.

 

Lance seemed to sense the explosion that was about to follow, because subtly he creeped one warm palm to steady Keith at the small of his back, drawing him back to reality. Keith felt himself relax slightly at the touch, at least enough to not completely ruin their lives by punching out an FBI agent.

 

“Thank you, Sir. I’m trying my best to pray the gay away,” Lance said, quieter than usual, yanking back his hand to fiddle anxiously with his other. “But I know I…” He grimaced, inhaled sharply. “...might need more physical correction, of course.”

 

Keith grit his teeth, not as amused by this blatant homophobia after what had started out as a very sarcastic, satirical joke. This wasn’t really funny anymore, and he just wanted these awful people to leave, wanted to go kill Lance in peace away from Stanley's bigoted, judging eyes.

 

As if on cue, Frederick’s voice sliced unsuitably lightly above the tense atmosphere, desperately seeming to want to end this as well. “Well, I think that about wraps up all we needed to know here. You boys have a nice day, and…” His eyes flickered away, apologetic. “...good luck to you, Mr. McClain.”

 

His words were genuine, unlike Stanley's, absent of malicious intent. It was the only thing keeping Keith from entirely losing his faith in everything.

 

“Next time, send a letter or something, kid, for Christ’s sake,” Stanley chimed in, snorting, and then they finally turned to leave.

 

Both Keith and Lance said brief greetings goodbye, and really, they deserved a fucking award for that performance.

 

Keith was about to slam the door shut, when Lance unexpectedly called out to their retreating backs, “Hey, wait, uh. You know, I didn’t poison them or anything, obviously, but if you _really_ wanted to make sure my story checks out, isn’t it sort of your job to taste the bagels yourself or something?”

 

Yup, whether by Keith or by the hands of the government, Lance was going to be a dead man.

 

Stanley turned back around. Frederick eyed the package in his hands as if it was some alien object.

 

“We have a team that specializes in that, Mr.McClain. That was the first thing they did, test it, and yeah, there wasn’t anything in them.” Stanley shrugged. “But we still had to investigate, due to the...odd nature of the contents, especially since there was no explanation with it. Courtesy practice. That’s all I can reveal about that.”

 

“It’s just that, I’m a little sad,” Lance continued, and Keith honestly had no idea where the fuck he was going with this anymore. “The president didn’t even get to try them, and I worked so hard making them.”

 

Frederick raised his eyebrows, and Keith wanted to slap a hand against his forehead, because Lance had already lied about how he wasn’t working anywhere.

 

“Uh, I um. I make all my bagels homemade, from home.” Lance caught himself poorly. “Yup. Yeah. Hobby of mine.”

 

“That’s...interesting,” Frederick settled on awkwardly. Stanley gave his usual soulless, sunglassed-encased stare back.

 

“Mmm,” Lance agreed. “You guys work so hard, for our country and everything. Practically the backbone of this nation.”

 

Stanley’s face cracked into a proud grin for the first time since they’d been talking. Keith sort of wished he hadn’t, it looked somehow creepier.

 

“My bagels are known to be the best around, people _love_ them. You deserve to treat yourself, so why not try them? They should still be pretty good. There are people starving out there, you know. It’d be a waste to just throw them away.”

 

Stanley still didn’t look convinced.

 

Lance sighed, crossed his arms and looked to the side before he added, vocal chords audibly strained, “...I wore gloves.”

 

Keith’s breath caught in his throat, looking on in morbid anticipation. They wouldn’t really fall for that...would they?

 

“Ah, why the fuck not?” Stanley relented, but Frederick was focused on the mischievous edge to Lance’s expression, not meeting Stanley’s eyes as he handed over the package. “I’m starving, and we were gonna stop by that coffee shop anyway. Might as well save some money.”

 

Apparently, Keith thought that too soon.

 

“I’m not that hungry,” Frederick said quietly, refusing the bagel Stanley proffered to him.

 

Frederick was a smart man, Keith decided.

 

And then Stanley bit into it, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. Keith almost threw up.

 

“Hmm.” Stanley took another bite. “Pretty good for a queer spic.”

 

Again, Keith felt himself move to draw blood, again, Lance steadied him.

 

“Alright, thanks for these. You boys stay out of trouble now.”

 

Lance grinned a grin so devious, so utterly self-satisfied, that Keith could physically feel the smugness dripping from it. Mouth gaping in horror, Keith didn’t know whether to be turned on by Lance’s ability to get revenge in such a way, or to be disgusted by what he just witnessed.

 

Choosing to land somewhere between the two emotions, they bid the two goodbye for real and Keith shut the door.

 

Lance’s grin fell once it was closed, and Keith felt a little bad through his anger, Stanley’s words echoing back through his mind like a particularly terrible song produced by the Westboro Baptist Church that got stuck in his head.

 

Keith ran a hand through his hair, nerves finally starting to settle back down at the call too close for comfort.

 

“Are you...okay?” He asked Lance softly, licking his lips as Lance stared pensively at the wall for a while. He was _only_ concerned since he wasn’t talking for once. 

 

After a second, Lance turned away from it, smiling his usual jerkass smile. “Hell yeah I am, that was fucking hilarious. That homophobic racist piece of shit just ate a bagel I put my dick in.”

 

“Good,” Keith said, gave him a gentle kiss, and then he smacked him.

 

“God, ow! What the fuck was that for?! Lance wailed, rubbing his cheek.

 

“Are you fucking serious right now? What _wasn’t_ that for?”

 

Keith reached out, grabbed his earlobe, and began leading him into the living room like a mother might do to their child after they’d done something so ridiculously stupid, it was the only way to exemplify how bad it was.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Lance cried. “But I had to do it! Trust me, it was extremely necessary!”

 

Keith had completely forgotten that their roommate, Pidge, had been sprawled on the couch the whole time, working on some assignment. She was wide eyed, watching them curiously when they entered. Keith had no idea how much she had heard.

 

“What the fuck was that all about?” She asked, looking up from her pile of papers as Keith continued dragging Lance by the earlobe. Pretty desensitized to such a usual sight, Pidge wasn’t alarmed in the least.

 

“This absolute _idiot_ ,” Keith spat, stopping abruptly and flinging Lance almost across the room, “sent bagels that he put his _fucking dick in_ to the goddamn president, and almost got us arrested and taken in for questioning by the FBI!”

 

“They ate one of the dick bagels in front of us,” Lance added happily, clapping his hands.

 

Pidge immediately burst out laughing, clutching at her stomach as she practically rolled on the couch. “Holy shit, dude, that’s fucking awesome, oh my god.”

 

She high-fived Lance, who grinned from ear-to-ear, and Keith felt his blood boil further.

 

“No, it’s fucking not, don’t you _dare_ encourage this!” Keith’s voice rose incredulously louder, his hands balled into fists. Was he the only sane one here? Seriously, where the hell was Hunk or Shiro when you needed them?

 

“He almost got us taken in by the government! If you guys haven’t noticed, not only are we both _minority immigrants_ , we are also _extremely fucking gay_! Like do you all not understand the gravity of the danger we were just in?! I cannot believe you two right now, what the actual fuck.”

 

Pidge only laughed louder, tears brimming in her eyes.

 

“Babe, hun, papi, mon petit bagel,” Lance purred, slinging an arm across Keith’s shoulders and planting a small kiss on his cheek, “It’s alright, they left, we’re safe, it’s cool, it’s all good now.”

 

Keith instinctively grabbed Lance’s arm and flipped him to the ground stomach down, bending his elbow behind his back in a brutal one handed restraint.

 

“‘All good’?! ‘ _All good_ ’? That’s all you have to say for yourself after almost getting us into serious federal trouble over your impulsive need to stick your dick into places it should never, _ever_ fucking go?! Ugh!”

 

Lance chuckled through his wheezing.

 

“Well maybe if you let me stick it in places that it _should_ go more often, this wouldn’t have happ--ow, ow, ow, uncle, uncle!!”

 

Keith twisted Lance’s arm harshly one more time before he relented and stomped off, stepping as hard as he could on Lance’s back first before going to vent his anger somewhere far, far away from this idiocracy.

 

“You’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week,” was all he could manage to say through the red still blinding his vision.

 

He couldn’t believe only yesterday he had allowed this ridiculous and infuriating bagel fucker to suck his cock. The bar for his standards had honestly never been lower, and Keith needed some serious time to himself to go reevaluate his entire life and his clearly poor choices in everything.

 

“Aw, come on, don't be like that, I said I was sorry!” Lance rasped, scrambling to get up and failing horribly, but it was too late - Keith was already rushing out the door and headed to his car to blow off some steam.

 

So that seemed to be the end of that.

 

Lance slept on the couch for the next two nights, mournfully lamenting during the day over his being outcasted by Keith loudly and at every moment he could manage while Keith gave him the silent treatment; Keith went through the five stages of grief in an enlightening existential crisis which embarrassingly still resulted in him deciding that, much to his chagrin, he loved Lance and somehow still found him attractive despite everything that was rationally telling him not to.

 

But on that third night of being banished to lonely couch purgatory land, Keith decided to lift the ban when the news came in that President Trump had bizarrely and inexplicably died from choking on one mysterious, stale bagel. 

 

He supposed it was the least he could do for the idiotic man he loved, and his nasty ass dick bagels that had subsequently saved America and the rest of the world from certain doom.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even care if this is accurate, or that that ending probably made no sense at all. All I know is that this was as extremely necessary to write as Lance’s urge was to put his dick into bagels and send them to Trump. Thanks for reading, and Lance bless ‘murica.


End file.
